This impassioned speech fell like a lighted torch into a perfect powder-magazine of religious enthusiasm. Copies of it in Arabic were borne from village to village by mounted Murids; other mullahs took up Kazi's cry of _gazavat_ (war for the faith), using his speech as a text for their excited harangues; and in less than a month the whole district was in a blaze of insurrection. Kazi Mullah himself was the first victim of the fire of war which his eloquence had kindled. He was killed while fighting desperately at the storming of the aoul of Ghimry by a column of Russian infantry under Baron Rosen, on October 17, 1832. I have endeavored to give in the preceding songs and in the speech of Kazi Mullah an idea of the nature and the spirit of Caucasian heroic literature. I will turn now in closing to the literature of sorrow and suffering, which is the black shadow cast by heroism across the threshold of domestic life. Heroic literature is the voice of Caucasian manhood: the literature of suffering is the cry of bereaved women. The following lines are the lament of an Avarian girl whose lover has been killed while making a raid with a troop of Lesghian horsemen through the valley of Georgia: My beloved went away into the valley of the Alazan, and as he left me he looked over his shoulder at every step. My clear-eyed one rode down into the lowlands of Georgia, and his horse was fleet and fearless as a mountain-wolf. But from the depths of the lowlands has come the bitter news that our mountain-hawks will never more return: From the far-away valley of Georgia have come the scorching tidings that our lions lie dead in the pass with broken talons. O merciful God! if I were only an eagle, that I might touch once more those cold dead hands! O almighty One! if I were only a wild dove of the cliffs, that I might look once more into that pale dead face! I envy thee, I envy thee, O jackal of Georgia! thou feedest upon the bodies of those who wore weapons of steel! I envy thee, I envy thee, O raven of the river! thou drinkest the eyes of those who rode to battle on swift horses. The jackal devours the bodies of the warriors who bore weapons of steel, and skulks away into the depths of the forest: The raven drinks up the eyes of those who rode to battle on swift horses, and with hoarse croaks vanishes in the blue sky.